


Rain

by iruusu



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 23:20:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11724690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iruusu/pseuds/iruusu
Summary: Judal comes to him in the middle of the night, and despite the rain Sinbad can tell that he's been crying.Kou has never been very kind to Judal, but Sinbad always will be.





	Rain

**Author's Note:**

> i.. really forgot about this fic omg i wrote it in like february but i never posted it bc i thought it was too similar to my other ones but.. i figure it can't hurt to share it now :') feedback is always appreciated !! ♡

Judal really wasn't the first person Sinbad expected to find on his doorstep, drenched completely in the heavy summer downpour. Immaculate lavender kohl was smeared and ruined, spilling muddy down his pale cheeks, and dark hair fell flat against his drawn, colorless features. Somehow, he was still beautiful, in an otherworldly sort of way, and Sinbad didn't know where to start.

"What are you doing here?"

"I don't know," said Judal, soft, a whisper behind clenched teeth. It was impossible to tell where the tears ended and the rain began.

There were so many things Sinbad wanted to say, that near stung him in the tip of his tongue, but instead he settled for a gentle, "come inside, before you catch a cold."

Sinbad ushered Judal in through the heavy balcony doors, listening to the squelch of soft feet against the marble, paying mind not to slip on the rivulets of water that dripped from Judal's spill of dark hair. The curtains flared as Sinbad shut the doors behind him, but still Judal shivered in the cold drafts of the chamber, and quickly, Sinbad brought him a robe to drape over his shoulders. Though it hardly helped to fight the cold, Judal sank into it, breathing in the familiar scent of Sinbad's musk, and sighed.

"Thank you," he murmured, sinking down onto the bed in his plush robe. Both items were soaked along with him, but Sinbad hardly cared about that, now.

"You were a fool to come here in the rainy season," said Sinbad lightly, and Judal's mouth pulled taut, as he rolled long-lashed carmine eyes.

"I've learned my lesson," he grumbled. "It won't happen again."

"Why are you here?" Sinbad asked, coming up before him. "Has something happened?"

"No," said Judal, and after a moment of hesitation, "not really."

Sinbad's eyes softened, knowing. "What was it?"

Judal lowered his head, and trembling shoulders rose and fell with a long, somber sigh. "It's always that old bitch Gyokuen. I can't take it anymore, I can't take her. I'd rather die than stay anywhere near that awful place."

"You might've died coming here in such a state, though," Sinbad tried gently, "and we can't have that." The bed sagged as he took his seat beside Judal and took his slender, fragile hand, soft and free of calluses. Sinbad's hand was rough and hardened, and perhaps so was he, in a way, but Judal hadn't quite roughened as much as he'd simply learned to adapt. Even now, after everything, he was still soft and lovely, as he'd always been, and even his hardened layers had begun to wear away with time.

"I would rather that than live with her," he said, and Sinbad sighed.

"I wouldn't. I don't want to live in a world without you," said Sinbad, fitting Judal's palm in his hand for just long enough to force their eyes to meet.

After the barest moment, Judal looked away at his words, and as the pinkness rushed to his colorless cheeks Sinbad could not help but to smile.

"You look cold," he said, warming Judal's icy fingers.

"That's because I am, idiot."

Sinbad couldn't find much more in him than a smile. "Then let's go and get you warmed up."

* * *

Sinbad had never taken Judal for modest. His clothing was hardly prude, rather indecent, in fact (though, to be fair, the outfit had been Sinbad's suggestion in the first place, and it was beautiful). Sinbad had seen Judal undressed before, but even now, as he slipped the robe off of his pale shoulders, as he shed his jewelry and unfurled from the choli and slid off his heavy leg dress, Judal was blushing, standing naked before Sinbad.

Cute.

"There isn't any need to be shy," Sinbad teased, and Judal narrowed his eyes as if he wanted to hit him.

"I hate you," he said, but all the intensity left his features when it came Sinbad's turn to undress. Judal's cheeks were the color of his favored peaches, refusing to meet Sinbad's gaze, but when Sinbad's hand took his Judal couldn't help but to look up.

"You are very sweet, you know."

"I am not, idiot," he insisted, but the protest was weak and they both knew it.

Judal stepped into the warm bath after Sinbad. The tub was canopied with heavy, embroidered curtains, illuminated only by the soft glow of candlelight, and Judal seemed to find comfort in the security. All shyness left him as he leaned back against Sinbad's chest and sank into the water, pressed up against the hardened, warm abdomen behind him. He hummed softly at the feeling.

"I was right," said Sinbad with a groan, "you are cold."

"And you are warm," said Judal pleasantly, reclining into Sinbad's warmth with a sigh. Instead of protesting, Sinbad encircled Judal's narrow waist with his toned arms, kept him close, and Judal was almost purring.

After a while, one arm came free from its hold, and as worn fingers moved to free Judal's long hair of its binds, the only response was a lazy, contented murmur. Sinbad's fingers were skilled, working with Judal's long hair; it spilled through the water like ink when it was freed, and the way it shone in the intimately low light was devastatingly beautiful. Sinbad was careful not to pull when he lathered the strands, and Judal seemed to enjoy it, humming in relaxed tones at the rhythmic strokes.

Judal said, "you're good at this. Do it more often."

Sinbad chuckled, and Judal must've felt it against the skin of his neck, with how he shivered. "You just like it when people take care of you."

"I do," Judal admitted, sheepish. "But you are by far the best at it."

The smile came to Sinbad's lips without him meaning to. "Good. I am glad that I could make you feel better."

"I wish I could stay here all the time," said Judal, suddenly. "So that you can always take care of me, and treat me like I mean something to you. And so you can keep doing that thing with your hands," he purred at the way Sinbad tugged ever so gently at Judal's hair in that soothing, rhythmic way, the sort that made every bone within him want to turn to jello.

"Then why don't you?"

"You know why I don't," said Judal, eyes lowered, solemn. "I can't."

"Why not?" Sinbad slid his fingers from Judal's rinsed hair to angle back his face, meeting with those tired, carmine eyes. "There is always a place for you here."

"The servants will talk."

"The servants will always talk, and it means nothing. I want you here," he said, and pressed a kiss to the bend of Judal's neck, delighted at how pinkness seemed to seep from that very spot. "Stay, if that is what you want."

"I don't know," whispered Judal, somber despite his blush, and Sinbad knew it was a sensitive matter. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Judal's voice, plaintive, came first.

"Run away with me."

"What?"

"Run away with me, Sinbad," Judal tried again, and Sinbad could feel his heart pounding against his chest as Judal gently tugged away, only to shift so that they laid chest to chest; heart to heart. "I can't stay in Kou and I can't stay here. Let's go somewhere else. Anywhere else."

Sinbad didn't have the words, for the look in Judal's eyes, pleading, desperate, and yet not enough. "I can't."

In a choked voice, Judal spoke again. "Sinbad--"

"I can't run away with you," said Sinbad, "and it is unfair of me to ask you to run away from your home, but I have to. I love you, Judal." His touch was gentle, reaching up to brush back a lock of damp ebony hair from wide, glowing eyes. "I would love nothing more than to wake up to your lovely face every morning, to fall asleep to the beat of your heart. I want to make you mine, Judal, but I cannot leave. I can't."

Judal was trembling, cold now against Sinbad's chest. "They don't want me here."

"They will learn to love you," said Sinbad, "like I have. Run away, Judal. Run away to me."

"This is what you want?" asked Judal after a hesitation, incredulous, wide eyes trembling with something unfamiliar and watery. "You want me to run away? To come to you?"

"Yes," said Sinbad, and he meant it. "I would love nothing more.

There was silence for a moment, and it was probably a foolish decision when Judal began to frantically nod, tears pooling, cheeks flushing, but Sinbad had never felt more warm. "Fine," he cried, "I will do it."

"You will?" asked Sinbad, who suddenly found it hard to breathe, which wasn't a feeling he was at all familiar with.

"Yes," said Judal, and it came out like a laugh, a real laugh, one that sparkled in his eyes and deepened his flush; a laugh. "I'll do it. I'll run away to you."

The water churned and splashed as Sinbad lurched forward to kiss him, and there were no further protests once their lips met.


End file.
